


Mischief

by Alyss_Baskerville



Series: Speculations of the House of Finwë [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alqualondë, Elven Swearing (basically), F/M, Fluff, Humor, Kissing, Teenagers, The Teleri - Freeform, Valinor, Well they basically are for elf standards in this fic, Young Love, this ship is underrated and deserves more attention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 17:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19817101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyss_Baskerville/pseuds/Alyss_Baskerville
Summary: Eärwen was caught off guard. She admitted it. Arafinwë had gotten the better of her, just then.





	Mischief

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Nausea-inducing, tooth-rotting, fluffy clicheness. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Eärwen was caught off guard. She admitted it. Arafinwë had gotten the better of her, just then. 

Her suitor might, under normal circumstances, been laughing heartily, his voice tinged with those merry tones that she had always enjoyed hearing. After all, seeing Arafinwë smile in any way made warmth bloom in Eärwen’s chest, made her heart feel full and her stomach fill with butterflies that she, try as she might, could _not_ seem to dispel for the life of her. It did not even matter if he was laughing _at_ her, for Arafinwë never intended it in a mocking fashion and she knew that. 

Yes, he _should_ have been laughing, under normal circumstances. 

But he was not, and neither could she summon up the lightness of mind to find any amusement in this situation. Frankly, her mind had gone a little haywire, moving at dizzying speeds yet remaining absolutely stagnant as she stared at Arafinwë, her clear blue eyes wide with shock. 

Her suitor met her gaze for but a second and then lowered his own stare of darker, ricker blue, miraculously developing an instantaneous infatuation with his boots. His already-flushed cheeks blossomed into full, vibrant crimson, the rosy color spreading along his cheekbones and his nose and his entire face, contrasting sharply and insistently with the lovely sunshine-golden of his hair that Queen Indis had passed onto him. It really would have been rather amusing and made for some lighthearted teasing on Eärwen’s part, were she not just so utterly _astonished._

Her lips, parted slightly in a small ‘o’ shape, tingled. 

It had all been rather normal and commonplace at first, though not monotonous. _Never_ monotonous when it came to her Arvo. (When Eärwen had begun referring to him as ‘her Arvo’, she could not definitively place, nor would she ever admit she was fond of calling him such). The third son of King Finwë possessed an elegant wit that Eärwen discovered was difficult to counter; not because his remarks were so biting that they destroyed her ability to speak, but because the sarcasm was always intermingled with subtle kindness and tacit compliments that Eärwen found left her simply too soft to argue with. But never did those compliments edge the line of flattery, and the Telerin princess had long since admitted to herself that she had no idea how Arafinwë managed. There was nothing practiced about his humor; it all seemed to come so naturally. Everything did with Arvo.

And he was gentle, and chivalrous, and just so _full of life_ that she could not help but adore him. Never before had any suitor courted her with such personal, emotional intimacy. When she was with Arafinwë she was simply _Eärwen._ Not _princess_ or _daughter of King Olwë_ or the exhausting, and frankly, greasy _the most splendid maiden that has ever graced the shores of Aman, Your Majesty._ Even though her suitor did have a talent for making her feel like the loveliest girl in the world. 

Arafinwë was intelligent. He had a cunning, pragmatic mind for politics. Arafinwë was honest. He cared little for the power plays that ran rampant throughout the court, maneuvering his way in and out of them with deft ease, but never truly caring to partake. Arafinwë was adventurous. One instance, Eärwen had dared him to steal Raumolíro’s pearl collection - her big brother possessed an irrational affection for his pearl collection, and had huffed at and given even _her,_ his baby sister, the cold shoulder for _a week_ \- thinking that he would never even _dare,_ for her Arvo knew well how beloved said collection was to Raumolíro _._ And Arafinwë and Raumolíro were friends! How could her suitor imagine it?

Well, the lively fool had indeed snatched her brother’s pearl collection, and Eärwen recalled her jaw dropping open when Arafinwë, blue eyes gleaming in amusement, had produced the jar filled with the smooth, perfectly spherical white stones from the pocket of his tunic. Oh yes, Raumolíro had been _angry_ , most definitely, and had refused to _look_ at Eärwen for nigh on two weeks before their mother had finally intervened and Eärwen had received quite a harsh chastising. But still, it was all worth it to hold her aching sides, laughter erupting from her, with the sound of Arafinwë’s chortling echoing at her side as well. 

Eärwen adored Arafinwë. She did not doubt that he adored her back; after all, why else would he be courting her? Every day did they walk the streets of Alqualondë, sometimes arm-in-arm, sometimes she scrambling and darting out of his reach, their laughter ringing clear and loud, sometimes _he_ weaving in and out between buildings, leaving her no way to track him save for the swish of his tunic and the sunlight reflecting off his golden hair and his playful, teasing calls. The hours, days, weeks, months that they spent together were Eärwen’s favorite yet of her life. 

Today had been just another such day - though, perhaps, the word “just” had no place in that sentence.

The two of them had been walking in companionable silence through the secluded private pavilions scattered throughout Alqualondë, admiring the pale buildings and the architectural design which both found aesthetically pleasing. The buildings were dotted with rose bushes and small, man-made ponds, in which water lilies floated on the surface, pale and lovely to gaze upon. 

The pavilions were Eärwen’s favorite places in the city. She faintly recalled memories of her childhood, when her mother and father would take her and her brothers to appreciate the serenity and delicate beauty of the structures. Of course, they, children that they’d been, had done no such thing. Her brothers had complained that the buildings were boring and contained absolutely nothing of interest, while Eärwen had been _so_ fascinated that she’d touched nearly _everything_ and her mother had to catch her before she made a headlong rush for and leapt into one of the ponds. 

“Oh, and here,” Eärwen had been telling Arafinwë, pointing to a certain pond and smiling fondly at the memory, “Raumolíro scoffed at me for being so enchanted by the water lilies. He said I ‘looked like half my wits had been sucked out by the flowers, which left me with a lamentably small amount considering how little I had to begin with’.” Laughter bubbled against her lips, and she let out a quiet chuckle. “I answered him with a faceful of pond water and left him soaked,” she recalled. “Mother scolded me, but I didn’t care.” 

Arafinwë had not responded. Normally he would have been laughing alongside her, commenting that her dynamics with Raumolíro had not changed a bit since their childhood - or something in the same vein - but he had been deathly quiet, staring at her with burdened, distracted eyes, like he was thinking very long and hard about a serious matter. 

Eärwen, naturally, had been concerned, for she had never seen her Arvo look so pensive. And when she had approached him to ask what was the matter, he had reached out, and she could barely recall what had happened. One hand on the small of her back. Other hand cradling her cheek. Pulling her closer and closer until she was pressed lightly against him, staring at him in shock and unable to comprehend just _what_ was going on. 

And then his eyes closed, his lips pressed gently against her own. Eärwen herself had been far too engulfed in her state of bewilderment to close her own eyes, but somehow she still felt the warmth of his mouth against hers. His lips were smooth, and in that moment, she could have sworn - smoother than anything she had ever laid her hands (or lips, for that matter) on.

Then it was over and her lips were pressed against nothing but thin air, and he had stepped back to put some space between their bodies, handsome face flushed pink and cerulean eyes darting chaotically to and fro. Leaving Eärwen floundering and staring at him, utterly perplexed and still struggling to understand what had just occurred. 

Arafinwë stared harder at his boots. By the Valar, Eärwen had not thought it possible, but he was actually staring harder at those boots. 

She blinked.

Her lips tingled again.

And then it all came crashing down on her. _Eru. Oh,_ **_Eru!_ ** He had _kissed_ her! He had pulled her to him and _kissed_ her! 

Truth be told, it was not Eärwen’s first kiss; Arafinwë had not been the suitor to kiss her. But the fireworks erupting in her belly as she stared at him, dumbstruck? The sharp spike of her temperature that had her head spinning as the reality that Arafinwë had actually _kissed_ her sunk in? The euphoria erupting in her veins at the very knowledge in itself that Arafinwë had _wanted_ to kiss her and had _acted_ on it? They were _all_ firsts, and Eärwen, try as she might, _could not_ find her _Valar-forsaken_ words. 

Arafinwë took her silence, her shock, in the worst way possible: He took it to mean affront. His face burned an even more radiant shade of red and, if possible, his fascination with his boots increased twofold. 

“I - ” he stuttered, his attractive voice faint, his eyes utterly downcast, “I sincerely apologize, Eärwen. That was - I crossed my boundaries . . . I mean - I . . . I did not mean - ” He stopped his stammers, mortification sweeping his face. “That was out of line, Eärwen. I am sorr-” 

She silenced him by grabbing the pale, fine material of his tunic in both her hands and pulling him towards her, reconnecting their lips. This time, Eärwen’s eyes were closed, for she wanted to savour the sensations on the skin properly and thoroughly - but had she not done so, she would have seen that now Arafinwë was the one whose eyes were bulging with surprise, that it was _she_ who had caught _him_ off-guard this time. 

Before the third son of Finwë could recover from his shock, Eärwen pulled back to study his expression, heart thumping painfully and wailing of its desire to punch its way through her chest (not that she would be caught dead admitting this to anyone). Her own pale cheeks were now flushed and thoroughly red, she was sure, but she was determined to ignore the embarrassment curdling in her stomach in favor of the _far_ more delicious _delight_ in the knowledge that _Arafinwë Ingoldo wanted to kiss her, and kissed her he did_. 

“Well?” she whispered. “Does that answer your foolish apologies, Arvo?” 

“Yes,” he stammered, clearly still shocked by her returning kiss. _Good riddance; now he is aware of how_ I _felt when he kissed me out of the blue!_ Eärwen thought, though the _very last_ emotion that she was feeling right now was annoyance. 

Her suitor’s gaze focused, the stunned stillness that had overtaken him at her sudden actions wearing off, and amusement flooded his ocean blue eyes - _his annoyingly breathtaking ocean-blue eyes_ \- wiping the chagrin off of his face. His mouth - _that damningly enticing mouth_ \- curved upwards into a little grin. “Arvo, am I now?” he asked. It was only then that Eärwen remembered that it was the very first time she had called him by her personal nickname, one that carried such a connotation of affection and intimacy. She glared at him, but there was no true hostility behind it. 

“Be quiet,” she ordered - with absolutely no force, one might add - hesitantly, tentatively, sliding her small hands up his upper chest and onto his shoulders. And she did not miss the very subtle shudder of satisfaction that traveled through Arafinwë’s body at the physical contact. Confidence surging at his inviting response to her touch, she felt a coy smirk curl her lips upward. “I liked that kiss, Arvo.” Her voice quieted to a whisper. “Do it again.” 

“Tease,” Arafinwë accused, but his voice had taken on an unfamiliar husky quality that made shivers to slide down Eärwen’s spine. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, and he grinned, a roguish glint that she had never before associated with him shining in his ocean blue eyes. 

And then he obliged her. 


End file.
